


Baby, Please Remember Me Once More

by duckgirlie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckgirlie/pseuds/duckgirlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David was twenty-three when he woke up in a hospital room and met a man who knew more about him then he knew about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was started for [ae-match](http://ae-match.livejournal.com/)'s TEAM ROMANCE last year, but then... stuff got in the way. BUT IT WILL BE FINISHED, I PROMISE YOU. And hopefully pretty quickly.
> 
> And [Immoral Crow](http://immoral-crow.livejournal.com/)'s help has been invaluable.

Arthur was already in bed when the phone rang.

"Arthur?"

The voice was unfamiliar, which shouldn't happen. This was Arthur's private line, the number he gave out to only a few select people - all people who should know better then to pass it on.

"Who is this?"

"Dr. McKevitt. I'm very sorry to bother you at this time, but we've just admitted a man to Mercy Hospital and this was the only working number we found on him. Even his identification is... unclear."

Arthur sighed and thumped his head back against his pillow. This could only be about Eames.

"Where are you, exactly?"

The doctor rattled off the address and hung up. Arthur sighed again and pulled himself out of bed. Normally, he'd be perfectly fine leaving Eames overnight, but the fact that Eames was obviously out of it enough not to be able to concoct his own cover story, not to mention the doctor was able to sift through his wallet, meant there was every chance Eames was in actual trouble.

He shuffled around his bedroom, getting putting his clothes on and secreting his gun somewhere. Finally, he pulled open his desk. He knew he had those fill-in-the-blanks medical power-of-attorney papers _somewhere_.

*****

It was only Tuesday, so the emergency room wasn't as busy as it could have been, and Arthur managed to find his way up to internal pretty quickly. Even if acting wasn't really his forte, he could manage to pull of tense and worried without thinking, and that should hopefully be all that was needed right now.

Dr. McKevitt was waiting for him by the nurses’ station, and one look at her face had Arthur trying to ratchet up the ‘worried’ in his face. She smiled at him with that concerned smile all doctors have.

“You must be Arthur.”

“Is he okay?”

“It’s... hard to say.”

She gestured for him to follow her, and a moment later they were outside a private room, it’s door slightly ajar. Arthur looked in through the crack and tried to quickly catalogue what he could see of Eames’ injuries.

Aside from a small bandage on his forehead, and a sling on his left arm, he didn’t look to be in too bad shape.

“I’m afraid the head trauma has lead to a certain degree of memory loss. It’s not complete - he still remembers his name, and some details from when he was younger, but the last ten years at least are wiped out.”

Arthur let himself relax. Eames was obviously playing the amnesia card. Which was bad, in that it meant whoever got the jump on him left him with very few options, but good in that he was still in once piece, and it should be pretty easy to get him out of here.

He tried his best to look concerned again. “Do you think he’ll get them back?”

“Can’t say anything for certain. The brain is a tricky thing. The longer he goes without any returning though, the less likely it is.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Of course. But I’ll just warn you - he didn’t seem to remember you when I told him I’d called.”

So Eames was obviously still worried whoever was after him was close enough to still grab him - or both of them - if it came to it. Arthur carefully adjusted his shoulder holster under his jacket and followed the doctor into the room.

“David? There’s someone here for you. Arthur? You had his phone number in your wallet?”

Eames looked over at Arthur, and if Arthur didn’t know exactly how good an actor Eames was, he’d be worried. His face was schooled into such a perfect display of open, slightly-confused blankness that it took Arthur a second or two to respond.

He was pretty sure he managed to pull off calm but concerned.

“Hey David. You’ve had an accident?”

“Sorry. I know you? I mean, of course I know you, at least a bit. Your number’s in my wallet. But I don’t know you, not at all.”

Arthur ran through the possibilities in his head. He was using his real name - or his real first name, at least - which wasn’t a good sign. And his natural accent’s intact, which left Arthur with even fewer options - his English accent is nowhere near good enough to last until he gets Eames out of here. So he can’t play a relative. He silently cursed Eames for not coming up with a more improv-friendly cover before he smiled again.

“Of course you know me. We’re... friends.”

He managed to put enough of a spin on the word that it implied about fifty different things without seeming to commit to any of them.

“That’s nice then. Glad to know someone remembers me, even if I don’t remember you.”

Behind him, the doctor coughed slightly.

“I’ll just leave you two alone for a moment, I’m going to get the senior attending.”

The second she was out of the room, Arthur strode over to the bedside and grabbed Eames’ phone off the bedside table, scanning through it quickly to try and figure out who Eames had been working with.

“Jesus, you couldn’t have come up with a better line then ‘Help me, I’ve got amnesia?’ You know I fucking hate having to figure this shit out. I can’t even pretend to be your brother, so it’ll take me at least a day to get you transferred somewhere without raising any eyebrows, and if you think I’m just going to let you _lie there_ and...”

He trailed off when he realised Eames was still staring at him with that same blank look.

“Eames?”

“Was that supposed to mean something?”

“Stop fucking with me, alright? You haven’t left your PASIV unattended, or anything, have you?”

“I’m sorry darling, but I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about.”

A cold, heavy weight settled into Arthur’s stomach.

“Eames, how old are you?”

“They _tell_ me-”

“No, not how old they tell you you are, how old are you?”

Eames smiled sadly for a second. “I’m twenty-three.”

Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket and send out a text message to a very select group.

_CODE RED_


	2. Chapter 2

“You look like the kind of person who’s in charge of situations.”

Arthur put his phone down on the side table and took a step back. “You could say that, yes.”

“That’s a relief. Some of these doctors, man... I have no idea if they have any clue what’s going on.”

“They don’t. Not really. Amnesia’s still something that we don’t have proper answers for.”

“Yeah? Makes sense.” He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he didn’t quite recognise them. “I think the doctor probably underplayed things a bit. I mean - I have a lot of memories. Just not any recent ones.”

Arthur looked down at his phone for a second and tapped out a couple of replies before looking back at him. “It’s fine. I’ve got some people coming in. We’ll fix this. You’ll be fine.”

There was a pause where they both looked around the room.

“D’ya want to help me outside for a smoke?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“C’mon man. I can’t get out there by myself, I need someone to push me. It’s not far.”

For a second, Arthur looked like he was going to keep refusing, but he just sighed and pulled the hospital-issued wheelchair over to the bed, before pushing him to the nearest outside door.

“You know, you can stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown-up, even if I can’t remember most of it.”

“You still shouldn’t be smoking. You’d hate it.”

“Chill man, it’s not like you’re my boyfriend or -”

He nearly dropped his cigarette when Arthur flinched.

“Shit man, you’re not, are you? I mean, you said you were just my friend, and I thought...”

Arthur held up a hand to silence him. “No, I’m not. But it took you a long time to quit, and I just thought you’d appreciate being reminded that you don’t anymore.”

He looked down at the cigarette in his hand and raised an eyebrow? “I quit? For serious? Probably not. I probably just told you I did, but I’ve been sneaking them.”

“Suit yourself.”

He lit up the cigarette and took a long drag, coughing immediately.

“Shit man.”

“I did warn you.”

“Fine, fine.” But he didn’t put it out, instead cradling it in his palm and watching it burn slowly down. “So I don’t smoke. What else has changed? I’m still gay, right?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t just _stop_.”

“Well how the fuck should I know? This is _the future_. Maybe some hard-core social conservatives took over and forced conversion therapy on everyone.”

“No, you’re still gay.”

“That’s all right then.” He slouched down in his wheelchair, lighting another cigarette only to watch it burn down. “I mean, I’d probably miss that more then the smokes, yeah?”

“I imagine so.”

He looked up at Arthur and grinned. “I thought you might be my boyfriend, for a moment. I mean, you _look_ like my boyfriends. But then like, you keep calling me _Eames_ and I figured...”

“What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Um, David? It’s my name...”

“Well, _David_. Can we get back inside? Seeing as you’re not actually smoking anything.”

“Fine, fine. So we what, work together, or something?”

“Something like that.”

“And these people you’ve called, they work with us too?”

“They have done, yes.”

David craned his head around to look at him. “And we what? Do something proper dodgey?”

Arthur paused for a moment before he resumed pushing. “What makes you say that?”

David rolled his eyes. “I may be nine years younger then I was yesterday, but people don’t just mysteriously show up and promise to ‘fix things’ if they’re not at least a little bit dodgey.”

He stopped talking as he pulled himself carefully back into the bed. “Plus, you haven’t offered to ring my mom yet, so I figure that means you’re afraid she’ll beat me - or you either - for getting myself involved in something stupid.”

A thought occurred to him, and he gulped. “I mean, unless she’s... she’s not, is she? Dead, I mean.”

“No, she’s not. And you’re right, there is every chance she’d beat either one of us, so lets wait until we’ve a slightly better handle on things, okay?”

David relaxed back into the bed. “That’s good. I mean, fuck everything, if my mom was dead, I don’t think I’d want to be in the future.”

“It’s not the future Ea -David. You’re just taking a little catching up to the present.”

Arthur checked his phone again. “Look, I have to go... sort some stuff out. Do you think you’ll be alright by yourself until I get back?”

“Nah man, I’ll be tight. They’ve got vending machines, and I apparently own like, the tiniest computer in the entire world. You go find your shit out, I’ll be here, trying to remember you.”

Arthur looked at him for a second, like he was trying to figure something out, before nodding once and leaving the room. David looked about the room for a second before retreving his computer - and it really was _ridiculously_ small - from the bedside locker and pulled it open.

He couldn’t remember his password.

*****

Arthur picked Cobb up from his house.

“What’s the situation?”

“Where are the kids?”

“They’re fine. What are we dealing with?”

Arthur slammed the car door shut and pulled out into the road. “Something wiped out nine years of Eames’ memory.”

“And you think it’s...”

“I don’t know what it is. But whatever it is, it can’t bee good.”

Cobb nodded. “Who else did you call?”

“I’ve got Yusuf coming in on the first flight he can get, and Ariadne as well.”

“You think we’ll need to go under?”

Arthur tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “I just want to be prepared.”


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur pulled the car up outside the hospital and paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. Cobb gave him exactly two minutes before he coughed gently to interrupt.

"How's he presenting?"

"Head wound, broken arm or dislocated shoulder, significant damage to right leg."

"And the important stuff?"

Arthur sighed. "He seems normal, for a twenty-three-year-old. Except I didn't know him when he was twenty-three, so I don't know if that's normal for him, or not."

"And you think another dreamer might have done it?"

"I don't know. I didn't get a good look at his head wound, but it doesn't _look_ significant enough for that kind of memory loss. But then, does anything ever look as bad as it should? I have no idea."

Cobb looked at him carefully before nodding. "Okay. We'll work from that perspective for now, anyway. Does he know I'm coming?

"He knows I'm getting some people we work with - which he's surmised is at 'something dodgy' - but aside from that, no. I didn't think explaining would do any use, frankly."

Cobb nodded again and opened the door. "Let's not waste time then. You ready?"

"Yeah."

Arthur coughed slightly when he opened the door, warning Eames they were about to enter. In the bed, Eames looked up from his computer and stiffened slightly when he took them in, his posture shifting slightly. It took Arthur a second to figure out what was going on, and when he did, he nearly laughed.

Cobb _does_ project that teacher vibe, and Eames - _David_ \- is still short enough out of university that that means something, even if it was just an instinctive shift from relaxed to alert. But what would look normal on David just looked _weird_ on Eames' older frame, and it wasn't particularly funny when he thought about it.

"Eames?" Cobb asked.

Eames raised an eyebrow for a second, before shrugging. "Do I not go by 'David' anymore? Is that like, a work thing? Or are we fugitives or something?"

Cobb glanced over at Arthur, who shrugged, before turning back to Eames.

Eames grinned widely. "I fucking _knew it_ man! No wonder you haven't called my mum yet, she'll be fucking _livid_. Probably knock you one before she can even calm down enough to deal with me."

“To be fair,” Arthur interrupted, “I don’t think we’re _technically_ fugitives at this exact moment. Though I can’t be sure what you were doing before you ended up in here.”

“Fine, fine. But you can be the one to tell her that, right? I’m saying nothing.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Cobb said. “We’re not calling anyone until we have a better handle on what the situation is.”

“So what, you gonna spring me out of here, or something? Middle of the night stuff? Cause like, I’m not going to be crawling through no windows for the next while, yeah?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Alright. Just, y’know, keep me updated, right? I know I’m effectively useless right now, but I’m not really in the mood for surprises, yeah?”

“Of course not.” Cobb handed his bag to Arthur and turned back to Eames. “I just need to make some phone calls, but I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as he was gone, Eames sank back into his pillows and sighed. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Cobb is hardly as intimidating as that.”

“Is that his name? I don’t know, he kind of reminds me of the shrink my sister had to see when she was going through her difficult phase. Like he knows what I’m thinking, but isn’t going to tell me.”

Not the worst assessment in the world, Arthur thought, but stayed silent. Instead, he walked over to the bedside locker to shift through the rest of the stuff from Eames’ pockets. It was about what he was expecting, spare change in about five different currencies, a credit card with the name mostly obliterated, and three different passports. No wonder the doctor’d said his identity was unclear. Although, that didn’t explain why there wasn’t a cop standing about, trying to be subtle.

He flipped the South African passport open and rolled his eyes.

“Only you would have a fake passport with your real name on it.”

Eames eyes widened and he grabbed the passport out of Arthur’s hand.

“This is a _fake_? Like six people have looked at this so far. It’s really good.”

“It ought to be. You made it.”

Eames looked at him again, disbelieving until Arthur nodded.

“Shit man. My mum’s going to fucking _obliterate_ me.”

“Well, we’ve kept it from her so far, nothing says we can’t keep it a little longer.”

“I can’t _lie_ to my _mum_ , Arthur. I’ve tried, it doesn’t work.”

“Then it’s obviously a skill you’ve picked up in the last nine years.”

Eames looked like he was about to argue, but instead sank back into the pillows he’d risen out of.

“Fuck. I keep forgetting, you know? And then it’s just - I’m like, I should call Dara, right? I mean, I know we broke up, but it hasn’t been that long, and I’m in fucking _hospital_ , right? He’ll probably want to know I’m not dead or anything. But then it’s like - no, it’s been fucking _ages_ , and he probably doesn’t remember me any more then I remember him, yeah?”

Arthur didn’t say anything.

“You know me, right?”

“Yes.”

“For how long? I mean, do I still have _any_ of the friends I used to have?”

“I... I don’t know.”

“Fuck.”

Arthur pulled the chair slightly closer to the bed and sat down, but remained silent.

“Shit man, I’m sorry. You can totally just ignore me when I go like that, okay? It just takes so getting used to. The future, I mean.”

“It’s fine.”

Eames cast his eyes around the room, like he was trying to find a less maudlin topic of conversation.

“So this Eames bloke, yeah? I guess he’s started wearing underwear again?”


	4. Chapter 4

Eames was asleep when Ariadne arrived twelve hours later. Arthur had been forced to relocate to the parking lot once visiting hours were over and the doctor had started to grumble about ‘family members’ and remind Arthur how he’d already admitted he wasn’t related to Eames.

He was too keyed-up to sleep anyway, so he had pulled out his computer and sat in his car, trying to find out what exactly it was that Eames had been up too since he’d seen him last.

He’d just about dozed off, bent over the steering wheel, when Ariadne knocked on the window.

“What up? Shouldn’t you be babysitting?”

“He’s sleeping. And they won’t let me stay in there overnight.”

She climbed into his passenger seat.

“So. What's the plan?”

“I don't know. I mean, we have to go under, right? We need to find out if someone's _done something_ to him that's taken the memories, or if just the traumatic brain injury. Listen to me, “just” traumatic brain injury...”

She squeezed his upper arm. “What if someone has taken them?”

“Then we fix it.”

“And what if it's the head trauma?”

Arthur just started through the windshield. “I don't know.”

 

*****

 

As soon as visiting hours started again, Arthur hurried Ariadne inside. They managed to make it to Eames' room without meeting any of the doctors, and found him sitting up in bed, fiddling with a laptop.

He looked up when the entered and furrowed his brow for a moment, like he was trying to remember something.

“Arthur, right?”

Arthur relaxed very slightly. At least Eames' - _David's_ \- ability to form new memories was still mostly intact.

“And you... you I don't know. Were you here yesterday?”

Ariadne smiled gently. “No, I just arrived. I'm Ariadne.”

She reached out to shake his hand.

“I'm David. Are you another fugitive then?”

Ariadne raised an eyebrow at Arthur, who just shrugged.

“He figured it out for himself.”

“Arthur doesn't want to call my mother.” Eames explained. “So we must be up to something criminal.”

“Well, I've never met your mother, but I'm sure he's got the right idea. Maybe he just wants to make sure we have as many answers as possible before we worry her.”

Eames rolled his eyes. “Nah. He's probably just afraid she'll smack him around a bit for letting me get myself into trouble.”

“Nobody _lets_ you get into trouble, Ea – David. You manage it pretty well all by yourself.”

Eames smiled. “Now that's the first thing you've said so far that sounds familiar.”

“So you obviously haven't changed that much.”

Arthur pulled Ariadne over for a second.

“I'm going to try and find Cobb, okay? You keep him talking, try and figure out exactly where his memories stop.”

She smiled that same soft smile again. “You'll figure it out, okay?”

Outside, Arthur leaned against the wall for a second to center himself. He was halfway through his ten cleansing breaths when Cobb interrupted him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur had his hand pinned to the wall before he even realised he was doing it.

“Right. No sneaking up on Arthur then.”

“Sorry.” Arthur pulled back. “I'm... a little jumpy right now.”

“You don't need to apologise.”

Cobb leaned against the wall next to him. “Any change?”

“He might not remember you though, it took him a second to get my name when I arrived. But aside from that... I don't think so. Have to talk to the doctors to make sure, but... No.”

“We have to take him under, you know that?”

Arthur glared at him. “ _Of course_ I know that. I've already called Yusuf, we're just waiting on his flight getting in.”

“Do you think we should tell him?”

“I don't know.” Arthur ran his hands through his hair. “I mean, if we do tell him, at least we can get an idea of _where_ to bring him. But on the other hand...”

“We don't know what's been done to him, we don't know what's going to happen if anything inside his subconscious has any time to prepare.”

Arthur shoved his hands deep into this pockets. “Will his subconscious remember being militarised, even if he doesn't?”

Cobb stepped away from the wall and looked down the hallway. “I don't know.”

*****

David smiled at Ariadne as she stepped closer to the bed.

“So, do we work together as well?”

“Sometimes. Not as often as you work with Arthur, but often enough.”

“You don't look the criminal type.”

“You probably didn't either, when you started.”

He mussed his fingers through his hand and started fiddling with the laptop again.

“I don't remember what I looked like. Do you know what my password is?”

She smiled. “If it's your work laptop, then no, you keep that one entirely secret. If it's your personal laptop, then I think it's 'eamesyoureanidiot', all one word, no caps. Arthur made you change it so they had separate ones.”  
David tapped a couple of keys, and sighed. “Looks like no.”

“Maybe Arthur knows. Or maybe it'll come back.”

“Well, if my memories start coming back, there are a couple I'd rather get first.”

“What's the last thing you do remember?”

David could tell she was fishing, but she looked like she was safe, and Arthur trusted her, and he trusted Arthur – even if he didn't fully know why – so he let her.

“Um... It doesn't just _cut out_ , yeah? Like, after they're mostly gone, there are still a couple of flashes, like eating cereal, or riding my bike, before it all disappears.”

Ariadne smiled encouragingly. “That's okay. What's the last proper memory, then?”

David lay back for a second before he started talking.

“There was a party. I think it was at my friend Jilly's place – it felt like that anyway, in a giant field somewhere – and I didn't want to be there, because my ex was going, but I had to be, because Jilly would have fucking killed me if I missed it. So I was there, but I was moping in the corner, and then I was flirting with this bloke, but that was only because Dara was _totally_ about to cop off with his horrible blonde girl, but then instead I just got absolutely mangled and went home. Then the next morning my mum just glared at me over the kitchen table and then force-fed me about six oranges.”

“Does anything feel significant about the memory?” Ariadne asked.

“Not really. Just another party, y'know. Not the first time I'd been that drunk. Not even the first time we'd broken up. Maybe not the last time, either.”

“I'm sure we'll figure it out.”

David smiled at her, and yawned. “I think I need a nap.”

“Are you okay? Didn't you sleep well?”

“Nah, I slept fine. The doctors just said I might sleep a lot for a while, recuperating and all that, yeah?”

“Okay. I'll leave you, okay? We're just outside if you need us, okay?”

“Cheers. Laters, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

David lay back and closed his eyes as Ariadne slipped out the door.

*****

Arthur glanced up as Ariadne approached.

“Did you get anything?”

“Not anything helpful. His last intact memory wasn't anything special, just another party.”

“It could be whatever his first missing memory is. Could it be when he started–“ Cobb asked.

“No. He's not going to join the army until just before his twenty-fourth birthday. He doesn't get involved in dreaming for another seven months after that.” Arthur interrupted.

“Then maybe there's something else significant there, we just need to find what is is. Maybe we _should_ call in his mo–”

“No.” Arthur cut Cobb off again. “We're not calling her in unless we _know_ what's going on. Yusuf's going to be here in a couple of hours, we'll taken him under, figure out what's wrong, and find out how to fix it.”

He turned shortly and strode out of the hospital, checking his watch to count down til Yusuf arrived.

*****

Yusuf arrived exactly two hours later, carrying a battered suitcase and looking determined.

Ariadne had managed to wheedle a tiny room out of the nurses, and they set up there, running through a short plan.

“I've brought this. Yusuf held up a vial. “I don't think any of you have used it before. It's designed for clarity, but it's missing any of the memory inhibitors we usually include to stop the mark remembering the extraction. It should mean that whatever we find in there will be unfiltered, but it also means that Eames should remember whatever we show him in the dream.”

“Won't that freak him out when he wakes up?” Ariadne asked.

“He'll be fine.” Arthur said. “Eames took to dreaming very quickly, he won't freak out, not unless something bad happens down there.”

“Which we'll try to avoid.” Cobb said.

Ariadne pulled open her sketchpad. “So where are we bringing him?”

Cobb looked over at Arthur. “You've been to Eames' family home, right?”

Arthur frowned. “Once or twice, but–“

“You're the dreamer, and I need a series of rooms, starting with wherever the last time you saw him was, then working backwards – any significant places you can think of – and ending with whatever Ariadne managed to get about his last memory.They don't need to be completely in order, just what you think might trigger a memory. Fill in the gaps with his family home.”

“So, what? We try and herd him through the rooms, see if memories are still there?”

“Exactly. Hopefully, he'll fill the room with projections related to the location, and we can see what's intact.”

Arthur checked his watch. “He's been asleep for two hours, we should move.”

They moved back into Eames' room.

Yusuf set up the PASIV with the modified compounds, and took watch at the door. Cobb, Arthur and Ariadne pulled chairs over to the side of the bed and sat down, hooking themselves in.

“Be careful in there.” Yusuf warned. “We have no way of knowing what his projections will be like. And I can only give you a couple of minutes. With the head injury, anything more could be dangerous.”

“We'll be fine.” Arthur said.

He pressed the button, and then –

They were in Eames' small LA apartment, and over by the window, Eames was standing, staring out...

Except that no, this wasn't Eames. This was David, all narrow shoulders, clear skin, and open, honest face. He was standing there in jeans so worn they were practically see-through and a Clash tshirt, and he looked lost, lost and so much younger then Arthur can ever remember him being, even though –

And Arthur shouldn't be surprised, because Eames is still a forger, even if he doesn't remember what that even is, and just like scars often find themselves erased in dreams, his subconscious has obviously settled on what it thinks it looks like.

“No projections.” Ariadne whispered.

“We're still in his apartment, there wouldn't be.” Cobb pointed out.

Except she pointed out the window, and the streets were completely clear.

“We need to move him on.”

Arthur threw his voice across the room, called out 'David' from behind a door, and they carefully followed him through, into –

A hotel room, and Ea – _David_ , because this really was David, was standing in the centre of the room, like he was frozen in the middle of something but didn't know what it was. He turned, and looked right through them, and Arthur felt _something_ brush against his back.

Ariadne grabbed his hand. “What was that?”

“A shadow.” Dom explained.

“Is that a memory?”

“It could be anything.” Arthur said.

“Still no projections.” Cobb said. “Move us on.”

Arthur threw his voice again, and through the door –

The Paris warehouse, and David sat behind his desk, staring at a pair of glasses in his hand.

Arthur held his breath, because if he can remember the glasses, then maybe he can remember Inception, and then...

But instead, David stands up and walks over, stopping just in front of them, his arms wound tight around his body.

“Look, I know this makes me sound like a proper kid, but I think I'm lost.”

Arthur started slightly, because if David couldn't see them in the previous dreams, how come he could see them now?

“D'ya think you can tell me where I am?”

He was talking to all of them, but there's something about the way he smiles that's just at Arthur, and Arthur has a sudden flash of – _I mean, you_ look _like my boyfriends_ – before he can answer.

“I think you need to go through that door.”

He pointed, and David smiled gratefully and walked towards the door, and they followed him into –

The house in Mombasa, filled with all the trinkets of Eames' globetrotting, and David didn't look like he recognised it, but pushed forward anyway, moving through the room like it could tell him something, something he didn't even know to ask for.

And he picked up everything he could see, turning them over and over and smiling, but it's a smile of fascination, not of recognition, so Arthur moved them on again, into –

Eames' family home, and Arthur felt another shadow brush past him, then another, and Cobb grinned.

“They have to be memories. These ones are stronger because they're at home – they're tied into things he does remember. Keep moving him on.”

David didn't want to leave – he wasn't lost anymore, he knew where this was, but Arthur pushed him anyway, through another door, and into –

Another hotel room, a different room, and there were no moving shadows here, but something else. There's an energy suffusing the whole room that's nearly suffocating, and David turned to them, his arms wrapped even tighter around himself, his shoulders hunched.

“Can we leave? I... I don't like it here. Please?”

And Arthur agreed, because it was his memory as well, he remembered this hotel room, so he grabbed David's hand and pulled him through another door, into –

A long barracks, and this felt doubly wrong, because this was the kind of place that should be bustling with activity, but it's just David, sitting alone on a cot, his knees drawn up to his chest.

He looked somehow, even younger. And there's a shadow in this room as well, but barely, and Arthur could feel it edging around the room, circling David but never getting close enough for him to notice.

Suddenly, he heard the strains of music and Cobb grabbed his arm.

“Last one now, bring us to the party.”

“It's just a big field.” Ariadne said, and they pulled a dazed David to his feet and got him through the door, into –

Night time. And here there were projections, projections everywhere, young men and women crowded together and laughing.

Arthur looked at David, his shoulders had relaxed and he pushed into the crowd. He looked at everyone, trying to see the people, see if he could place any of them, but Cobb grabbed his arm...

“We have to kick out before he wakes up.”

“One second.”

Across the room, David had a bottle of gin under one arm and a plastic glass in one hand, and he was talking to a boy with curly hair and wide eyes, but his eyes were fixed across the crowd, on a guy with black trousers, a crisp white shirt, neat hair, and his arm fastened around a beautiful blonde girl.

He took a half step forward, but Cobb grabbed him again.

“ _Now_.”

The word tipped over and –

The hospital room, where they caught their breathe and Yusuf carefully checked the PASIV.

Eames blinked his eyes open and stared around the room.

“What the fuck was that?”


	5. Chapter 5

“What the fuck was that?”

“We were just –“

But Eames had managed to pull himself out of bed and into his wheelchair before Arthur could finish.

“You said he'd take it well.” Cobb said.

“He should – he _did_ take to it. Eames was the only person in the unit not to throw up the first time, he should be fine.”

“It's not the dreaming that freaked him out, it's the content.” Ariadne pointed out. “You need to talk to him, tell him what we're looking for. Maybe he'll feel better once he understands.”

“Maybe he changed a lot in between this age and when you met him.” Cobb said.

“That shouldn't –“

Arthur cut himself off. This Eames is different. David's probably never even held a gun, let along pointed it at anyone, and he realised he'd made a mistake.

“I'll go talk to him.”

He found Eames outside, another cigarette in his hand just burning away to nothing.

“I'm sorry. We should have told you first.”

“Yeah, you fucking should have.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“What was that?”

Arthur took a deep breath and sat down on the low wall.

“It was a dream. A constructed dream. That's what we do, all of us. We build dreams, and then people fill those dreams with themselves.”

“What's the point?”

“Because when someone's filled a dream with themself, we can find out certain things.”

“So what? We go into dreams and steal people's memories? That's horrible.”

Arthur smiled sadly. “Sometimes it can be. But you knew we didn't do good things.”

“Yeah, but I thought you meant like, stock market fraud or art theft or something, something... clean. Not like digging about inside people and stealing little bits of them.

“Not little bits of them. Nothing's gone when we're done, they're still the same person, we've just... helped someone else get an idea they wanted.”

Eames slouched down in his seat and lit another cigarette.

“So what were you trying to steal from my mind?”

“Nothing. I promise, we'd - _I'd_ \- never go into your mind to try and steal something. We were trying to trigger your memories, see why they might be gone.”

“Could someone do that? Steal my memories like that?”

Arthur sighed. “We don't know. But we had to check.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing conclusive, no. Some of your memories seem to be still there, at least a little, but we still don't know how you lost them.”

“Are there people out there I've fucked over? People who'd want to fuck me up like this.”

Arthur couldn't meet his eyes. “Yes.”

When he looked up, Eames was staring at the ground, his body closed up as small as his injuries would let him.

“I think I'd like you to call my mum now.”

*****

Arthur didn't know how, but Eames' mother was there in less then twelve hours.

He and Yusuf met her in reception.

“Mrs. Eames, I'm sor–“

She cut him off. “Arthur dear, I know it's been years, but it's still Veronica.”

“Sorry, Veronica. I'm sorry about not calling you immediately, but there were a couple of things we had to check before it was... safe.”

She smiled. “I'm not going to ask any questions, you know that. But is he alright?”

Arthur and Yusuf exchanged a glance.

“As far as we can tell, but we don't know everything.”

“Can I see him?”

Outside Eames' door, Veronica paused for a moment to steel herself.

“Is is different?”

“He's younger. Or seems younger, at least. He'll... he'll be glad you're here, he hasn't stopped asking after you.”

There was a brief pause before she raised her hand to push the door open.

“David?”

The second he heard her voice, Eames face just _lit up_.

“Mum!”

Arthur closed the door behind her. That wasn't somewhere he should be.

*****

David couldn't quite process it – his mum was _here_ – Arthur must be magic or something, because he didn't know how she could have made it over to LA that fast.

She was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at him, and he waited for her to speak.

“How have you been?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I'm alright, yeah. Aside from the head thing. And the arm thing. Also a leg thing so... I'm alive? At least. I suppose.”

“Yes, you are.” She reached her hand out to brush his hair off his forhead, and normally he hated that, but he let her anyway.

“I have some pictures to show you.”

His mum pulled a small picture album out of her handbag and held it out to him.

“It's not much, just some photographs of your father and me, your sisters and their families–“

David grabbed the book out of her hand. “Mags and Sarah have _families_?”

She smiled. “They do. Sarah has a son, and Maggie has two daughters.”

He leafed through the photographs, asking her questions about each one.

“That's from Maggie's wedding. She picked the suit out for you and wouldn't let you out of the changing rooms until you'd proved you actually did know how to tie a tie by yourself. And Sarah's wedding – you had to leave before the reception, but you were there for the ceremony, at least.”

“Where's this?”

“That's the cottage your father bought in the peak district. We've been there a few times, but I don't think you've made it down yet.”

“It's beautiful.”

“Is that Sarah's son?”

“Yes, that's Michael. He's three now, he wants to be a racing driver.”

“And these are –“

“Maggie's daughters, Grace and Lila. Grace is six, she wants to be a ballerina, and Lila's four, she wants to be a typewriter, though I think she might be slightly confused.”

Eames grinned and leafed through all the pictures. “It's weird, yeah? I mean, I know these places, they're really obvious, and I can see these people and I know I know them – It's _Sarah and Mags_ of course I know them, but then they don't look right, and I can't quite believe myself that they're the same people I know, yeah?”

“I know, darling. It must be terrible.”

David stopped talking to leaf through the pictures some more. “So, I... I don't have a family of my own yet?”

She reached up to adjust his hair again. “Not yet. I thought there was a chance, a while ago, but no.”

He looked down at the book in his hands, tracing his fingers slowly over the faces in a group photo.

“I'm not in any of these pictures.”

“You're away a lot for work. We don't get to see you as often as we'd like.”

“So, I just... don't come home anymore. _Fuck_.” He flinched. “Sorry.”

“You're a grown man, David. I can't give out to you for swearing anymore.”

David lay back in the bed. “I just wish I knew what happened to me.”

“I thought it was a road –“

“No, I mean _before_.”

She squeezed his hand. “You will. Arthur said there's a good chance you'll regain your memories.

At Arthur's name, David looked up. “Can I ask you a question? About Arthur, I mean?”

“Sweetheart, I can't tell you that story. You'll have to ask Arthur for yourself.”

There was silence for a moment, until his mum smiled just a little too brightly.

“So, the last thing you remember is Jilly Fanshaw's giant party? I would have thought that night would be the last thing you'd remember.”

David blushed. “I was kind of mangled, wasn't I?”

“Understandable, in the circumstances, though I can't say I approve.”

“You never liked him.”

“I was quite right not too.”

He fiddled with the blanket over his legs. “Did we get back together?”

She smiled a little sadder that time. “You did. Twice more before he finally broke your heart enough you said no.”

David reached out to squeeze her hand. “I should have listened to you from the beginning, you're always right.”

“Oh David.”

She stood up and wrapped her arms around him, only pulling back when his went slack.

“Are you alright?”

She dabbed her eyes. “I'm fine. New mascara, I must be reacting too it.”

She smiled a little stiffer. “Look, darling, I hate to run away so soon, but there's something back at home that just can't wait.”

“Okay.”

“You don't mind?”

“Well, I wish you could stay, but if it's something important.” He reached out to squeeze her hand again. “You'll be back soon, right?”

“As soon as I can.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

*****

Arthur was pacing back and forth in front of Cobb and the others when Veronica finally emerged from the room.

“How is he?”

“He's okay. Or as okay as can be, anyway.”

She dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue.

“Are _you_ okay? You must be tired, do you need me to drive you to your hotel, or –“

“Arthur.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I'm going back to London.”

“But.. but you just got here. He needs you.”

“I can't stay here, Arthur. Not with him like this. If I stay here too much longer... I'm not going to want him back.”

“Veron –“

“Arthur.” She looked him directly in the eye. “That's my baby in there. But he hasn't been my baby for a long while now, and I can't let myself start to hope he stays like this. What kind of mother would that make me?”

“But he wants you here. He _needs_ you here.”

“You'll take care of him for me?”

Arthur took a deep breath. “Of course I will.”

She smiled a tiny smile. “Of course you will. Silly question, really. You always have before, even...”

Arthur reached up to clasp her hand. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

She kissed him gently on the cheek – 'thank you' – and walked quietly out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur carefully walked into the room.

“They're releasing him tomorrow.”

“Do we have any answers yet?” Ariadne asked.

“Not really.” Yusuf pulled his notebook out. “We can't entirely rule out a targeted attack, but right now, it's looked more and more likely that this is just what it appears to be – retrograde amnesia triggered by head trauma.”

“Does that mean we can't do anything?” she asked.

“Nothing definite, no. Just... support him, I guess.”

“So, we just... wait around, see if he remembers us?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Yusuf smiled at her sadly.

“It's not that easy,” Cobb said.

He turned towards a whiteboard on the wall, and started drawing a pattern of circles.

“Sometimes, people don't regain any of the emotions for certain memories, just a blank recollection of the details. Some memories are just emotion, nothing else. But the thing about memory is, it doesn't work in a straight line. We don't remember everything, every time we see it. Lots of memories are made up of layers of smaller ones – we remember the colour of our front door, the amount of windows in our house – all separately, and our brain knits them together. Some people who are regaining their memories find their brain has stiched parts together that don't match, and they have to try and use other memories to figure out which bits go where. But Eames...”

He signed and put his marker down. Arthur continued the sentence.

“But Eames isn't Eames in lots of his memories.”

“No.” Cobb said. “And I don't know how he's going to re-create an internal timeline when so much of it _just shouldn't exist_.”

 

*****

 

David looked out the window as Arthur drove up a narrow driveway towards a house. There was something very slightly niggling in the back of his mind as he carefully climbed out of the car and hobbled towards the door. Arthur followed from the car, unlocked the door, and stood aside to let him in.

David walked through the hallway to the kitchen, and paused. The niggling was back. He turned to look around the kitchen again, before turning back to Arthur, who was standing unobtrusively in the hallway.

“This... isn't my house.”

Something flashed across Arthur's face. “Do you remem–“

“No, not... Not properly, yeah? It's like... you know when you order coke in a restaurant, but they just bring you pepsi without checking, and you can tell there's something wrong, but you can't always tell what? It's like that.”

Arthur smiled slightly, and David smiled back. “Plus, you have the keys.”

Arthur glanced down at the keys in his hand. “I guess you're right. Though I could easily have the keys to your place as well.”

David smiled again. “Do I need that much taking care of?”

Arthur didn't answer, instead carefully squeezing past David into the kitchen.

“The doctor said you need to eat small, spaced out meals. So you can still get lots of sleep without interfering with food, or the food interfering with sleep. If you give me a couple of minutes, I'll make you something.”

He followed Arthur into the kitchen, managed to get himself into one of the high chairs by the centre island, and watched as Arthur carefully set out ingredients and made a cheese omelette.

“I know you think egg-white omelettes are an affront to food, but you're supposed to be on a high-protein diet. I left some yolk in there though, so I'm sure you can manage to choke it down.”

There was a slight disconnect between Arthur's tone and his words that David couldn't quite place. But it was probably just another thing lost in his memory, so he didn't try that hard to figure it out. If he was going to remember it, he'd remember it, eventually. If not, it looked like he'd have time to figure it out again, if he was staying here.

“Do you have any taba–“

Arthur placed a small bottle in front of him before he could even finish asking.

“But you haven't smoked in five years, so go easy on it.”

“Thank you.”

As he ate, he watched Arthur move around the kitchen, adding and checking things off a long list in his notebook. When he was finally done updating whatever it was, he switched the kettle on and turned back to David.

“I'll make some coffee – I don't have any of your teabags around – and you're okay to have a little, but not too much. Is there anything else I can get you?”

David wiped his hands nervously on his jeans. “No, I'm great. But you... You know you don't have to take care of me, right? I mean – not that I don't appreciate it, and all, it's fantastic – but you've got shit to get done, yeah? And I just mean that... I'm sure I could figure something out, yeah? If you wanted to get back to that.”

Arthur stared at him across the kitchen. “When you get your memories back, you're going to realise what a ridiculous statement that was, so I'm going to pretend you didn't say it. Eat your omelette.”

He looked down at his plate, slightly embarrassed for reasons he couldn't quite discern. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry. Thanks.”

When he finished his omelette, Arthur set a cup of coffee in front of him, and when he tasted it he sighed happily.

“Not even my mum ever gets it right.”

“I have an eye for details. And anyway, you didn't really start drinking coffee until the – until after you moved out. She always gets your tea right.”

He nodded, and yawned.

“There's a bed made up for you, third door on the left, upstairs. You can lock the door if you want, but it might be better not to, just in case you manage to hurt yourself again.”

David looked down at his fingers. “Um, you're not going to...try and get into my dreams again, are you? I didn't really like it, last time.”

“I promise. Not without asking you first, not again. That was just... an emergency.”

“Okay.”

He got up, and walked carefully to the door. He paused to re-adjust his crutches, and something on the wall caught his eye. There was another odd feeling in the back of his mind.

“What's wrong? Are you–“

“No, I'm fine. It's just...” David looked embarrassed. “You... you know your Bacon's a fake, right? I mean, you probably do, you don't look like you've got 10 million lying about – though if we're dodgy you might be trying for subtle – and you've no security on it, so... But you do, right? You didn't pay loads of money for that, right?”

Another odd look flashed across Arthur's face. “Yes. I know it's a fake. How did you? Do you remem –“

“No, I don't. I just know because well... It's obvious, yeah? I mean, maybe not if you didn't know much about it – the paintwork's pretty awesome, yeah? - but it's like, six inches too big. Which is kind of stupid, isn't it? What's the point of going through all that effort to get the brushwork perfect, but then making it so that anyone who knew anything about the original would spot it immediately? Kind of a bollocks attempt at forging.”

Arthur looked over at the painting for a long second, before turning back to the counter.

“It wasn't supposed to be a workable forgery. It was kind of a... private joke, between me and... the painter.”

David grinned. “That's good. For a second there, I was worried that maybe you'd just never had anyone who knew their shit back here, and you really didn't know. But then I figure Eames has been back here at somepoint, and he'd have known, yeah?”

“Yeah. He... He would.”

David yawned again. “Cool. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

*****

Arthur woke up the next morning to a silent house. Which was odd, because in all the years he'd know him, _silent_ was not a word he'd have used to describe Eames. He'd only known David – this David, anyway, because the David Arthur first met was different already – for less then a week, but he was pretty sure silent wasn't the word there either.

It was probably all the medication, forcing sleep on him. Which was good, he needed sleep.

Arthur found himself creeping carefully through the hallway and down the stairs, trying his best not to disturb Eames. He needn't have worried though – he was in the kitchen alone for less then five minutes before Eames shuffled in, grinning widely.

“Good morning. Do you want some –“

“I remembered something!” Eames cut him off.

For a second, Arthur's mind flashed through countless shared memories, wondering which one it was he'd gotten back – which one he hoped Eames got back.

“That's great. Do you mind if I ask...?”

“It was about Ariadne.”

Arthur's mind slowed down. Oh.

“We were in... I'm gonna say Paris? Though I'm not completely sure. And we were in a café, and she was ordering something, and she had this like, totally perfect schoolbook French, so I was teasing her about that, and she was blushing and kept trying to swear at me, but it wasn't quite working for her.”

“Oh. Okay. That was probably about... two years ago. Does anything else stick out?”

Eames paused to think for a moment. “I think I felt... kind of nervous and excited all at the same time. I mean, if I didn't know any better, I'd have said I fancied her, because it was kind of like that, but different.”

“Definitely two years ago, then. We had... a big job. It's near when you first met her, I'd expect.”

“What kind of job? That dreaming stuff?”

“Yeah. I'd explain more, but...”

“Don't bother.” Eames waved him off. “This is good though, yeah? It means I'm not completely broken.”

“No one ever said you were completely broken, Ea – _David_. But yes, it's good. Everything you can get back is good. Everyone's coming over later today, try and figure some more things out. You can tell Ariadne then, she'll be thrilled.”

“Yeah?” Eames smiled happily. “Awesome.”

*****

Arthur had been right about Ariadne, David thought as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Oh, shit. Am I hurting you?”

He pulled back slightly. “No, it's fine. I'm glad you're happy. It's great, yeah?”

She grasped his hand gently and pulled him onto the couch. “You should sit, it's good for you. You know, I remember that day? It was... a week after you got to Paris, and you dragged me out to this tiny patisserie because you swore blind they had the absolute best almond croissants in Paris. We had to wait in line for half an hour, then you made me order even though you knew the owner, and then you laughed at my French.”

“Wow. That's kind of shit of him. Me, I mean. Kind of shit of me.”

Ariadne shrugged. “It was a bit. I'd been warned though, so it wasn't that bad.”

“People had to _warn_ you about me? That's even more shit.”

“Not like... He'll kill you, or punch you, or steal everything you own, or anything. Just that you had... a way about you.”

“So... He's – _I'm_ – kind of a right wanker.”

“A bit, I guess. No one minds though, not really. It's fine.”

David sank bank into the couch and sighed. “Right. Sure. It's fine.”

*****

Arthur looked at Cobb carefully.

“What do you think it means though, that he remembered her first?”

“I don't re–“

“Is it just that he has less memories of her? Or that his first memory of her is the most recent? Or that they're probably all mostly positive memories, and that's what he's latching on too? Or that maybe–“

“Arthur.” Cobb cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. “You're trying to apply logic to this. There is no logic here, none that we can divine, anyway. If his memory regain has a pattern, we won't know it until it's over, but it probably doesn't. It could be something completely random that's triggered this, so don't... don't get yourself worked up over it. If he gets more memories back, odds are you'll be in one of them. He'll remember you, eventually. You just have to wait.

“I know. I know, it's just...” Arthur looked through the kitchen door to Ariande and Eames talking on the cough. “I just wish I could control the order he remembers me.”


	7. Chapter 7

David was pretty sure he'd been in this bed before.

Which made sense, he supposed. Arthur and, and _Eames_ are apparently friends, of a sort, at least. The house feels familiar in a way he can't put his finger on, even if it had taken a couple of days for that feeling to seep into him. So it made sense that at some point he'd have crashed out here in Arthur's spare room. 

Even as some of his memories started to filter back to him, he still didn't remember Arthur.

He remembered Ariadne a little – just details of her clothes, her wrists, the face she made when she was concentrating, and a few scant moments of interactions.

He remembered Yusuf just the once, but it was sharp as glass. Sitting in a dingy bathroom with his hands in a bucket of antiseptic and water, tuning out Yusuf's recriminations but accepting his concern. He remembered feeling safe and on edge at the same time.

He could remember bits of Cobb, but they were all such a huge mess of him and Mal together that he couldn’t quite tell what was what. It was more of an impression really, of two kids with a box of matches, striking each one and daring each other to be the last to let go.

But still, no Arthur.

*****

Arthur found Eames in the sitting room, hands balled deep into the pockets of his sweatpants. His head was cocked to the side as he considered the bookshelves, and Arthur could see David's angles in Eames' body, worn uneasily like a boy who's hit a sudden growth spurt.

He leaned against the door frame and watched for a moment before speaking.

“Looking for anything specific?”

Eames – David – turned to face him, blushing slightly. “I was just wondering if you had any photos.”

“Photos of whom? Of you?”

He blushed again. “Mr. Cobb said you've known Eames for a long time. I thought maybe if you had some pictures of me before, or us together, it might help me remember something.”

“Are you sure? I thought they said that might just confuse you, or make you think you've regained a memory when you've just concocted something out of a picture.”

Eames shrugged. “Worth a shot, yeah? I mean, what if they stop coming back? What if I never remember y...”

He trailed off, and Arthur stepped into the room to cover the silence, reaching into the back of one bookcase and bringing out a worn photo album. He handed it over and turned to leave the room.

“If you've any questions...”

But Eames was already folding himself awkwardly onto the couch and opening the book.

*****

David skimmed quickly over the first parts of the album, over countless photos of young Arthur and his family, until he saw a familar face, and stopped.

Three pages after the graduation shots, and the picture of Arthur in his first military uniform, there was a picture of himself and Arthur sitting on some grass.

There was a slight giddy feeling in his stomach as he looked at the picture, because _he recognised himself_. The young Eames sitting on the grass in jeans and a t-shirt was far closer to himself then the face he saw when he looked in the mirror. Next to him was a younger Arthur, knees drawn up to his chest and a hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

They were both smiling like they were actually happy, not just smiling for the photograph.

David looked carefully at the background of the picture, but there was nothing there but grass, so he gently slid the photo out from under the plastic to look for any other clues.

On the back, in handwriting that was smudged but still unmistakeably his mother's, was written “Arthur E & David”, and a date from a couple of years after that party, and about eight years before today.

David slid the photo back under the plastic and carefully positioned it exactly where it had been, before closing the album on his lap and leaning back into the couch.

He’d known Arthur longer then he thought.

*****

Arthur hadn't seen Eames since the morning. He'd left him alone with the photo album, because he didn't want to have to watch as he didn't remember anything.

Or maybe he didn't want to watch as he did.

But it’d been hours, and Eames still hadn't reappeared. He'd checked the sitting room, which was empty, and the garden, and the sitting room again.

He could check the spare bedroom. He didn't know what was stopping him, really. He hadn't heard the front door, and even then he was confident Eames knew better then to go wandering around the now-strange neighborhood, but he still couldn't bring himself to knock on the door.

 _He's just sleeping._ Arthur told himself. _He needs to sleep as much as possible, the doctor told you that. Stop worrying._.

It was 11.45 pm. Arthur should probably get some sleep of his own.

Instead, he opened up his laptop again.

*****

David looked around, but he didn't recognise where he was. The last thing he remembered was going to sleep in Arthur's spare room, and now he was in a warehouse somewhere entirely else.

He would have stopped to panic about the brain trauma starting to affect his ability to create new memories, but an explosion nearby shook the entirely building.

He moved with some kind of sense-memory to the wall and tried to postion himself to avoid falling debris, but before he could conceal himself he was struck and hit the ground. The pain was severe, but not completley debilitating, and he still managed to drag himself under a nearby table.

Suddenly, Arthur burst into the room, gun drawn. Except... Arthur was _wrong_ somehow, his face somewhere between the bright-eyed Arthur in that photograph and the formal, worried Arthur from earlier today.

If he'd been thinking clearly he might have noticed more, but his entire field of vision was suddenly taken up with Arthur, standing in front of him, and aiming his gun square at his face.

A sense of overwheling terror filled him as the barrel pressed against his forehead.

He woke up on the bedroom floor, already retching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SUPER SORRY IT HAS TAKEN THIS LONG.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who enjoys the story for sticking with it, and there will be an ending, I promise.


End file.
